“So,” I say, giving up on my chopsticks and stabbing at my noodles with my fork. It’s not as if I didn’t just crack myself wide open for Vivian to see and lay myself bare in the middle of Golden Dynasty’s dining room. “What’s new in your world?”
She smiles, settling back into her seat. “My grandmother is currently planning her next getaway. Again.”
“That sounds ominous.” I pause halfway through picking up my chopsticks. “Planning to do what, exactly?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Just affection wrapped in disbelief. “White water rafting.”
Pretty sure my eyes crossed when she said that. “She what?”
“The woman does not stop,” she continues. “Last month she took off at the last minute to try out circus college, whatever that is, but I now know it’s in Sarasota and she loved it. Before that, she disappeared for a week and came back with a tan, a tattoo, and a story which she refuses to fully explain. Oh, I almost forgot about her trip to Atlantic City when she came back two thousand dollars richer.”
A laugh pulls out of me before I can stop it.
“I’m telling you,” she adds, leaning forward slightly, “next thing I know, she’s going to be parachuting out of a plane.”
“Parachuting,” I repeat, shaking my head. “Yeah, that feels like a logical next step.”
She points at me like I’ve finally caught up. “Right?”
“Right,” I echo, settling back in my chair. And for once, it actually feels like that. Settled.
The noise in the restaurant hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still layered, still there. The music ebbs and flows, like my breathing.
And for once, I don’t feel like I’m tracking ten things at once. Just this. Just her. The table between us. The warmth of the tea. The easy rhythm of conversation that doesn’t feel like I have to get it exactly right.
My thumb drags slowly along the seam of my cup, back and forth, following the same path each time. I don’t even notice I’m doing it until I’ve already done it three, four times. The repetition settles something in me, keeps everything lined up.
I stop what I’m doing and glance up to find her watching my movements. Her gaze drops briefly to my hand, then back to my face, like she’s connecting it to something I said earlier, but she doesn’t interrupt. Instead, she nudges the plate of dumplings a little closer to me, like that’s the only adjustment needed.
No judgement. No weirdness. It’s like I don’t have to adjust myself to stay. Which is a good thing. I let out a slow breath, something in me easing just enough to not fight it. Maybe I don’t have to figure it out tonight.
I shift forward slightly before I can talk myself out of it, reaching across the table. I half expect her to pull away. Or make a joke.
However, she doesn’t. Instead, her fingers relax, turning just enough that my hand fits against hers. Warm. Steady.
Like it was always going to land there.
CHAPTER 18
VIVIAN
My grandmother is packing like she’s going off-grid for six months instead of a two-day trip that’s a one-hour drive from here.
“I don’t think white water rafting requires three cardigans,” I say from the doorway, watching her fold the third one with absolute conviction.
“It might,” she shoots back without looking up. “Weather changes. People are unpredictable. Rivers even more so.”
I lean against the frame, arms crossed. “You’re not packing for the river. You’re packing for every possible version of the river.”
She claps her hands, like I’ve just confirmed her point, and a tiny cough breaks through the moment, catching her mid-fold.
I straighten. “That again.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You’ve said that three times today.”
“And it’s been nothing all three times,” she replies, waving a hand like that settles it.
